


Ithaca

by pinkolifant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Siren School by SassyEggs
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 01:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkolifant/pseuds/pinkolifant
Summary: Sandors POV in Siren School by sassyeggs.Where essentially Sansa is an apprentice siren planning to kill Sandor.





	Ithaca

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SassyEggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/gifts), [corinne157](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinne157/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Siren School](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14219745) by [SassyEggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs). 



> Siren School by sassyeggs is available here
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14219745
> 
> I'm sure you all read it, but if you didn't please do.

He could swear he was seeing a siren bathing, dressed only in glittery, immaterial foam, fish tail and all. Much more _grown_ and with prettier auburn hair than the little mermaid on TV.

So he must have been dead drunk the night before. Strangely, in his recollections he was reasonably sober, and he never lied to himself.

Sirens were a far prettier sight than white mice or pink elephants.

(Not that he’d ever seen any of those. For fuck’s sake, he’d never get _that_ stupidly drunk!)

Idle after a long Friday night and some long due Saturday shrubbery cutting early in the morning, before it became too hot to do anything, he shamelessly indulged in his fantasy.

Was it just that? A rambling?

The border between the real and imagined dwindled, softened, melted into nothing, like his face, years ago.

Just when he was almost sure that the siren was real and irrationally pondered a swim to see if he could catch her, she vanished without a trace.

Perhaps she just dived and returned home. Maybe he should have a few shots on the beach and he’d see her again at sunset.

_Right._ He chuckled dryly at his own idiocy.

His lip twitched, uncontrollably.

The sea remained pretty as always, fresh-smelling and vast.

“Stop it” he routinely prevented Stranger from chewing at his boot.

When he was about to leave, maybe grab some food somewhere, maybe sleep lazily at home, a girl with that siren’s face and hair appeared on the beach out of nowhere.

Radiant, confident, she strolled right towards him, wearing a breezy white summer dress which could be foam if it weren't soft cotton. Not hiding, not revealing. Simple and proper. Her long white legs looked like they had never seen the sun. Not that her arms were any darker.

He almost gaped.

Until she spoke and spoiled his vision of beauty with platitudes about his dog and needing help, putting up an act of a damsel in distress. He’d understand if there was some rude bugger at her heels, a piece of heavy luggage someone should pull, a door he should open or a meal he should pay for. But seeing no such things in the vicinity, he concluded she must be stupid.

And the siren was prettier, obviously.

Wasn’t she?

He should have left instantly, but for some reason he dragged his feet, mocked her and feigned indifference quite a bit longer than he normally would have done, responding to her act with his standard one, applying to all people.

Him actually _leaving_ scared her shitless.

Suddenly, she stopped pretending to like his dog. (It was obvious from the beginning that she hated the hairy, stinky creature, and he couldn’t exactly blame her for that. His affection for Stranger _was_ peculiar. Most people would just kick him out. But she didn’t have to _drool_ over the cur and pet him, did she now? That was pathetic.)

Instead of further mimicry, she asked how old Stranger was in a no-nonsense tone. Her voice became deeper, resonant and much more natural. She looked fresher and more beautiful than the sea.

He wasn’t sure of _anything_ anymore.

So he caught himself enumerating his possessions that had fallen victims to Stranger. He even heard himself listing the bloody guitar, and then hoped that a girl like her didn’t listen to fringe rock bands with scarred players that had fallen apart a long time ago.

A girl he didn’t even know smiled and laughed at him as if they were _friends_ , and began talking to him about her family and her own pet, _Lady (_ why didn’t the name surprise him?), who was, very naturally, an octopus.

_What else would a siren have? A shell to sleep in?_

He concluded that shells were immobile and probably boring.

Or maybe the girl enjoyed whisky too much, like he did, and she was definitely not only pretty, but also funny and clever. And something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but was not used to seeing in people.

Whisky lover or not, she surely accepted his invitation to buy her a drink.

And immediately disappointed him by ordering a sweet red piss with idiotic name. _Sex on the Beach._

To her credit, she didn’t finish it. She sticked to a large glass of water and opened her blue eyes _wide_ with every sip, as if her new drink was something miraculous and truly extraordinary.

And it would be, for a _siren_ , wouldn’t it? The great blue sea wasn’t exactly bottled water.

The waitress came, seeing through him and past him, like most people, and drawing his attention acutely to the fact that the girl looked at him as if his face was as flat as his habitual expression.

And more, as if he was _something_.

He was compelled to respond. Losing the indifference in his eyes, showing the turmoil that lurked beneath, he fired questions at her about things he wanted to know now. About her life, her parents, her _school_ for fuck’s sake _,_ she was that young!

She was about to graduate from it despite having second thoughts about it, and it was something fancy.

Hell, he told her about Gregor in no time, before he even realised what he was saying.

And then it was even worse, it was the _fire,_  but not in his memories. An impossible heat occupied the empty space between them, despite the pleasantly cool breeze at the end of a summer afternoon, just before dusk.

The pointless, silly encounter, began to have a meaning or perhaps he was just lying to himself for once that a woman he could love was interested in him.

Then she said some crap about needing his help to find her keys, which she never had to start with.

And asked him to have sex.

She was a siren alright.

It would come at a price of his life.

That was what the murderous sea creatures did, they lured stupid morons like himself into their nets and then-

He didn't know exactly how death would come, and he felt curious.

They pretended very hard to catch their prey, didn’t they? For fuck’s sake, he had believed her! No wonder that Odysseus had tied himself to a mast to escape the magic power of their singing voice.

He looked her over, waiting for her to squirm, to be scared of him, to show disgust. She never did. She only cemented his idea that she was actually interested in _him_ , all of him, sex included.

So the sirens actually did _that_ before killing their prey. It wasn’t an empty promise to their victims.

Odysseus had a wife and a pretty island to return to. _Ithaca_. Sandor had nothing and no one.

“Alright,” he said, meaning it.

He never changed his mind.

“Really?” she seemed genuinely surprised and caught off guard.

“Sure. Water?” he was still meaning it and didn’t understand her hesitation.

“Yeah.” Was it her turn to feign indifference so masterfully?

She gave him her hand. Or did he take it? He didn’t know who was leading whom towards the shore and the seemingly long and lazy, but in reality swift and crushing waves. The tide was low. It would take some time.

But as they walked, his decision wavered, roaming treacherously to that moment of surprise in her voice when he’d agreed. Would she change her mind and save him somehow? Was it all honest, good and true, and not only a stunningly well prepared siren’s act like he had never seen before? Why would anyone bestow such mastery on him? She could trick anyone...

His thoughts were unstoppably running into unknown, hopeful futures where she _cared_ for him one way or another so she couldn’t just let him _die_ , or maybe he was turning craven and afraid like a six year old.

_To hell with it all._

There was no going back.

There were no happy endings.

It would be a good way to go.

Stranger whined once, either in approval or in disagreement. It was probably for the best that dogs couldn’t talk. Especially not now.

Maybe he could make her remember him. Think of him when she tricked someone else.

The waves licked her feet (bare, he noticed), but not yet his. She stopped and gave him a perfectly diaphanous look, not letting him walk any further. The sea was mirrored in her eyes in all its different colours, changing from light.

Blue, blue, blue.

But also dark green, black, foamy white, and, finally, steely grey.

So unafraid of the sea and of him.

“Or we could go to your place?”

His eyes widened, flashed, and it was him leading her back to the boardwalk before she changed her mind, taking his chance.

Siren or not, of course she was simply too damn good and _kind_ to let him die.

He had known it all along, but it was just too unbelievable to accept that such people existed.

And she still seemed to be interested in him.

All happy, impossible futures he had discarded with contempt a moment ago shattered his mind like breaking waves.

He’d show her he was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Please don't say WTF to this.
> 
> Say OMG. I like that expression better.


End file.
